Why pretend?
by peanut14
Summary: John has a secret that's tearing him apart. Turns out that Sherlock has a secret too. (A rewrite of an earlier story)
1. Chapter 1

**Anote: Set after Baskerville**

Chapter 1- the way you love me

It was dusk when Sherlock finally drove up the leaf littered driveway.

In the hours in between while he waited, John had plenty time to think about the conversation at breakfast.

'Henry Knight, needs someone to mansion sit,' Sherlock had blurted out as he walked out of his room with his lap top bag slung over one shoulder and his suitcase wheeling behind him, 'I fancy I will take a holiday at the same time. Quite overdue, don't you think?'

By the time John could recover himself, the detective was already gone. Of course, nothing in itself was wrong with Sherlock wanting a holiday but the abruptness of it all, on the heels of his withdrawn behaviour of late, had thrown the doctor into a panic.

An hour later, after John had checked in with all his 'sources' to ensure that there was no reasonable explanation for this behaviour, he was in the air courtesy 'Mycroft' airlines.

'Hello?!' Sherlock called out sharply, bringing the other man back to the present moment, 'who's that in the shadows? Step out and be quick about it!'

'Mycroft organised a helicopter lift,' John replied feebly in response to the detective's stunned look of amazement.

They stared at each quietly, the tension of the last couple of weeks rippling in the air between them.

'Can't a man take a holiday without so much suspicion being excited?' the detective replied wearily. 'I trust you didn't fly out here just to pick another fight. I am a little tired right now.'

Just then, the fading light of the sunset caught Sherlock's face at the perfect angle and John gasped sharply at the man's blood shot eyes. His flatmate looked haggard and defeated.

'No, of course not,' the doctor said hastily, too shocked by the man's appearance to even realise what he was saying, 'Sherlock, what's wrong? Please tell me. Please.'

The detective looked at him almost despairingly for a long moment, before he shrugged his shoulders indifferently, as if it didn't really matter anymore. Without warning, Sherlock extended his hand and with one finger, traced a path gently down the side of the doctor's face.

'Why did you do that?' John managed to gasp out in a mortifying high pitched squeak as he jumped back, painfully colliding with the car door of Sherlock's rented vehicle.

'Because I know,' Sherlock replied solemnly, 'I know why you are so angry all the time.'

 _What?_

 _No…no…no._

 _This wasn't happening._

'I know you don't want to feel this way about me and it's killing you slowly and I don't know what to do to help you,' Sherlock continued quickly, taking advantage of his flatmate's shock, 'Don't you see what's happening here?! If you continue to hide from this, in the end you will pack your things and leave, and not even understand why. I don't want that. I don't want you to go. John, it really doesn't matter to me if I am your friend, brother or your lover. These labels mean nothing to me…nothing! You know I am speaking the truth, because you know me.'

This entire speech was delivered to John's bent head but the lack of vociferous, obscene objections gave Sherlock hope.

The detective reached out a comforting hand to grasp the man's shoulder, 'This could just be a passing physical infatuation, John. And even if it isn't, we can work through it. There was really no need for you to tear yourself apart all these months, and shoulder all of this on your own. As I said before, you are my friend, my only friend and I am so very glad that you are here. Let me help you.'

'Are you sure you don't mind?' John whispered almost desperately.

Instead of looking at his face, the doctor concentrated with all of his might on Sherlock's coat buttons.

Time seemed to stand still for him as he waited for the proverbial axe to fall, and destroy everything that was good in his life. Only now, when it was too late to do anything about it, did John really understand how much he cared for the man before him.

Finally, the detective took a slow step toward him, and bent over to softly press his lips against the doctor's cheek.

John was grateful that the car was behind his back giving him support, because it felt as though he was on the verge of collapse. As he closed his eyes tight to hold on to the sensations for as long as he could, John felt the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. No cooked up smutty fantasy, he had ever dreamed about late at night when he was alone in his cold, lonely bed, could even compare to how he felt now. He was completely overwhelmed by the tenderness of Sherlock's touch.

'I have never minded the way you choose to love me, John,' Sherlock whispered in his ear.


	2. To be happy again

Anote: Apologises if you have gotten duplicate emails regarding this story. I think I finally have the hang of uploading chapters

 **Chapter 2** \- to be happy again

John blushed furiously when he realised that not only had he lost track of time, but that Sherlock had been gently holding him upright, while he swayed on his feet like a love sick teenager.

He was too mortified to even ask how long they had been standing there, in the dark.

'There is no need to be embarrassed,' the detective murmured as John tried to avoid his eyes, 'Does it help if I tell you that I am flattered that you find my physical transport so appealing?'

John shook his head, trying to pull away from the man's arms and scramble back to some sort of mental reality. Was Sherlock really offering to be his lover, just so that he would be happy again? Who in their right mind does that? This was insane. Besides which he wasn't gay, he was…dear God…now he understood why people said they are confused.

In the meantime, the detective scowled in displeasure as John pushed against his chest; silently asking to be released.

'Oh, I understand,' Sherlock hissed, 'You wish to go back to denying everything. Perhaps a demonstration is in order.'

The doctor stiffened in delighted horror, as the detective unexpectedly reached out and threaded his strong fingers through his hair; gently angling his head to the side, before pressing his lips firmly against his neck.

'Can you deny how this makes you feel?' Sherlock whispered fiercely along John's suddenly, super sensitive skin. 'Tell me that you don't like it. Tell me!'

John closed his eyes and fought not to groan out loud as the combination of Sherlock's frustrated anger and his touch, lanced through his body like a fiery whip; making his blood boil. He threw out his hands trying to maintain his balance, but of course the only thing left to hold on to in a world that was rapidly spinning out of control was Sherlock's coat.

'Don't,' John managed to strangle out, but if his flatmate heard him, he was ignoring it.

Instead, Sherlock slowly bent him over the side of the car while continuing his blistering assault along the column of his throat. The poor doctor couldn't help but whimper with pleasure as he gave himself over to the pure primal sensations of the man's kiss. However, when the detective decided to use his tongue to lick his neck in one long leisurely stroke, John flinched so badly that he accidentally knocked the man into a nearby hedge.

By the time the tall man extracted himself, with some muttered curses directed towards the thorny branches, the doctor had walked off and seated himself on the porch swing.

From across the driveway, Sherlock cautiously observed the doctor's defensive posture and with an anxious cough, he cleared his throat.

'Look, I could have tried to make that point in a different way,' the detective said in a low voice of apology, 'I just didn't want you to go back to pretending and denying what you feel. I hope you know…..I hope you know that I wasn't trying to force myself on you.'

John's relaxed his tense shoulders, so thrilled that Sherlock appeared to still be his friend despite this whole mess, that he felt as though he was floating, 'don't be ridiculous Sherlock. That last part never crossed my mind. The tongue bit just startled me, that's all.'

 _That, and the fact that I have a massive hard on, compliments on your exquisite kissing technique by the way._

'Good,' Sherlock replied in a relieved voice, 'Thank you. I came up here to Baskerville, just so that we could take a break from all the fighting. I couldn't sit there in the flat and watch you be so miserable. You following me out here, is our best chance to resolve to this situation. I would say it was fate, if I believed in such nonsense.'

John tucked his hands tightly around his body, hoping the other man wouldn't notice how they were shaking. He wanted to kiss Sherlock on the mouth so badly at this point; it would have been far easier to stop breathing.

Unaware of these lustful thoughts, the taller man ducked his head into the cab and wrestled his suitcases out of the car and up to the door of Henry's mansion, 'I am going to have a wash up.'

'I'll be out here. I could use a moment to myself,' John murmured breathlessly, glad for a little respite.

The detective opened his mouth as if to say something but changed his mind at the last second. John then looked on in surprise, as his flat mate stalked back to the car, opened the bonnet and removed the distributor cap, which he then slipped into his pocket.

'Don't give me that look,' Sherlock snapped, showing some of his characteristic fire that had been sadly diminished for the past few weeks, 'you know you were thinking it.'

John smiled faintly in amusement. Leaving before he did something really stupid had crossed the doctor's mind, but he had no idea how to hot wire a car, which Sherlock apparently suspected he was thinking of doing, the minute his back was turned.

Resembling his more familiar moody persona, Sherlock stalked through the door carrying his luggage, 'We faced down Chinese assassins, murdering cabbies, bomb wielding psychopaths, and the hound from hell together. This will be no different. Pull yourself together man!'

John sighed as the current man of his dreams vanished through the door, wishing he felt as confident as Sherlock sounded.


	3. no one else in the world

Chapter 3- no one else in the world

Like a good doctor and as the assistant to a world famous detective, John approached most of his problems methodically.

So, what were the facts so far?

One, Sherlock Holmes was his best friend.

Two, he was physically attracted to his best friend.

Three, the best friend knew he was 'in lust' with him.

Four, the best friend apparently didn't care two straws that he felt that way.

Five, the best friend had volunteered to participate in a week of 'helping' John with his sexual dilemma.

Six, the best friend was an idiot.

No, he wasn't an idiot, John knew that. Sherlock's brain just didn't function in a way that understood labels like wife, lover, gay or straight. Such social distinctions ranked very low on his list of things that should be in his hard drive.

 _'_ Why is it so important for people to know if I am gay or not?' Sherlock had asked him once in a bewildered voice as they enjoyed a quiet night in at home, 'Stupid really, human sexuality is not a bloody light switch but a whole spectrum. Maybe if you explain to me why you care so much if people think that you are gay, I might understand. _'_

The doctor smiled as he remembered the conversation, before covering his face with his shaking hands. Sherlock was offering, it wasn't like he was taking advantage of the detective's unique views about love and sexuality, was it?

Maybe he couldn't think clearly right now, not so soon after Sherlock had almost given him a heart attack with his devastating assault on his senses. Even now he could still feel the heat of Sherlock's breath on his skin. For someone who was married to his work, the man was amazingly adept at seduction.

'Dr. Watson?' came a tentative voice from his left.

John raised his head quickly and smiled in welcome at the two hotel owners from the village. These familiar faces from their last adventure were a wonderful surprise. 'Oh hullo there. Gary and Billy right?'

The couple however didn't smile back.

'Everything alright?' Gary asked sternly, 'we saw you from the path. That looks like quite an argument you were having. Where is Mr. Sherlock?'

 _What? Good Gad, did they think…?_

'Sherlock!' the doctor called out hastily to the upstairs floor, 'we have some visitors, put your head out.'

After a moment, the curly haired man looked out the window and waved down to their guests.

'Are you alright, sir?' Gary inquired in concerned, 'we saw you two fighting.'

'You should have seen us a week ago,' Sherlock remarked conversationally, 'Now that was a spectacle. I think everyone in London heard us.'

'Sherlock, no!' John hissed in embarrassment, as the two hoteliers looked at him in disgust, 'they don't need to know that. Just explain to them that I didn't deliberately push you to the ground just now.'

'Oh…that was an accident,' Sherlock immediately agreed, much to the doctor's relief, 'I shouldn't have used my tongue.'

John groaned softly while their visitors exchanged knowning grins.

'It happens,' Gary agreed, 'I wake up with a shout in the middle of the night, because this one is hugging all the air out my body.'

Little Billy sniffed, 'better to be an octopus, than a snorer.'

The conversation eventually turned, and while Gary and Sherlock chatted about the logistics of how Henry's mansion and large estate would be managed by the villagers during their stay, Billy walked over to where John stood, and offered the dinner they had brought.

John took the covered tray of food, nodding his thanks for their hospitality.

'Mr. Knight called and instructed us to take care of Mr. Sherlock,' the small man explained, 'Sorry we only brought a single plate. I told Gary we should bring two because I knew you would come down. Even if we were fighting, I wouldn't let my Gary go haring across the country and not at least check to make sure he's alright. I picked out the nicest guest room for you both. It has the most wonderful view of the moor. Clean towels are already in the bath and Gary stocked up the fireplace with plenty wood. If you're still hungry, there are some breakfast things to make an omelette in the fridge. We'll come tomorrow with more food.'

The kindly inn keeper peered into his face with a look of concern when John didn't answer. 'Are you okay? You can come down and stay with us, if you don't think you can manage on your own with your boyfriend tonight.'

'It's fine,' John reassured the other man with a gentle smile, 'I just never realised until today that even though Sherlock drives me crazy, I don't think anyone else in the world could be a better friend to me.'

Billy reached out and gave him a friendly one handed hug, 'I know exactly what you mean.'


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4- Someone special

'Sherlock, can you come down? Let's eat this while it's still hot,' John called up the staircase.

The doctor bustled around Henry's designer kitchen, looking for plates and cutlery, as the detective noiselessly descended in sock clad feet. All the while John kept his eyes averted, feeling at a loss for what to say next and clearly Sherlock did too, as the other man sat up at the breakfast bar without saying a word.

As was his habit, the small man unconsciously shared out the food; heaping all of Sherlock's favourites on to a clean plate and keeping all the stuff he didn't like back on his.

'You usually require more to eat,' the detective remarked knowingly, pointing to the meager amount on his flat mate's plate.

'Not hungry,' John mumbled distractedly with a little sigh, which of course made Sherlock scowl at the bowed head front of him. He was irritated that his best friend had so easily slipped back into his former mood of worry and frustration. They were a couple now! Everything would be just fine!

'Would you like to hold my hand?' the detective asked quite calmly, as if he was asking him to do nothing more than pass the salt.

The doctor jumped, almost dropping his plate. Flustered, he drew in a shaky breath and stared as Sherlock laid his open hand, palm up on the table for him to take.

Of course he accepted, after a moment of dithering like an idiot, and as Sherlock gently caressed his fingers with his thumb, the doctor concentrated on taking deep, calming breaths.

John couldn't believe he was here, with Sherlock, alone in this beautiful house holding his hand. The thought had never crossed his mind that he would ever get the opportunity to do something so wonderful. If he just closed his eyes now, it would be so easy to imagine that they had actually planned a romantic holiday in the country, weeks in advance.

'Would you like to sit in my lap?' the tall man then suggested.

John dropped his fork on the tiled floor.

'Sherlock, what you are doing?!' the doctor barked in surprise, as his heart hammered a bit uncomfortably in his chest.

'It's a yes or no question, John,' he remarked in his usual impassive manner.

The doctor huffed nervously as he reached for clean cutlery, 'no…not right now. But thanks for the offer.'

'Nothing has changed about me, John,' Sherlock warned him with a stern look, 'if you want me to do something, you should just ask. I don't do subtlety at all, as you very well know. Don't say no when you mean yes. John, would you like to sit in my lap?

'No…not right now,' the small man repeated in a more firm tone but with a rueful laugh. Sherlock always did the unexpected, so why would he be any different now? 'I am alright with just holding your hand.'

Sherlock look unbelieving, but dropped the question as John regarded him with a stubborn, fond expression.

'Earlier by the car when I sucked your neck, was that okay? Did I do it right?' the detective leaned forward and asked with a curious expression, 'On reflection John, I don't know why you are so interested in me of all people. I don't have a lot of experience, as you also very well know. I will try my very best but I don't think you would really enjoy me at all.'

Enjoy me?!

A delicious picture of a naked Sherlock lying along the breakfast bar suddenly popped into John's head, and he struggled to keep a straight face.

'I won't be disappointed. You are a great kisser,' the small man reassured him, as he felt his face turn hot.

Sherlock frowned, 'Thank you, but now you are distressed. Did I say something wrong?'

'I am not distressed. I am happy; overwhelming so, but it's not the type of happy where you smile,' John replied as he gently turned over his hand and threaded his fingers more securely together with Sherlock's, 'I could never have anticipated how unbelievably supportive you are being.'

Sherlock raised a scornful eyebrow, 'please John, I think you are letting your imagination run away with you. Don't confuse all of this with a rush of sentiment, which I am incapable of. I am interesting in maintaining our good relationship. It is very important to me. I would do anything to make sure it continues to function at peak efficiency but I am not about to go to the shop and purchase you flowers. '

John smiled gently at the peculiar way Sherlock talked about their friendship. He couldn't deny he felt a little disappointed inside though, by the man's cold analytical words, but this was Sherlock. If he really loved the detective, he wouldn't wish him to be what he wasn't. In the big picture, Sherlock cared if he was happy or not, and that was enough. It was more than some people had.

'Yeah…our relationship is important to me too,' the doctor remarked softly, 'but Sherl, you don't have to do this, just because I want it. We don't have to…you know, sleep together or anything. If you could just let me hold you and kiss you ever so often, I would consider myself quite fortunate. I'm not greedy.'

The detective shook his head at him in exasperation, 'I have no problem being your lover. Why would I? You are my best friend. Except for when you have me drug tested every month, I enjoy your companionship at all times and in all situations, I am sure this will be no different. YOU are over thinking the matter entirely.'

John was equal parts pleased and flabbergasted by this little speech. In between insulting him and treating him like a servant, it would be nice if Sherlock said such loving words like this out loud more often.

'When did you know?' the doctor asked in a eager whisper, wishing to prolong this new found mental intimacy for as long as he could. Sherlock didn't normally comment on 'dull matters' like his feelings very often.

'I always knew you found me attractive,' Sherlock replied carelessly as he swallowed his latest mouthful of salad, 'and who can blame you? I am a handsome devil.'

This supreme smugness on the other man's face made John groan and then snort with laughter.

'But I think you only became aware of how strong your attraction really was, after we met Adler,' Sherlock accurately speculated.

Startled, John tried to take his hand back, but of course Sherlock wouldn't let him.

'John?'

'I DON'T want to talk about her alright!' the doctor shouted unreasonably, 'just change the subject!'

Confused, Sherlock looked on miserably as John began playing with his food, until the doctor gave up and pushed the plate to one side. Immediately, Sherlock put down his fork too.

'Did you sleep with her?' the doctor asked tersely, propping up his forehead in one hand as he minutely studied the brillant white counter top.

'What?'

'Did you have intercourse with ...'

'I know what you meant!' Sherlock snapped back, his natural temper rising to match his flatmate's aggressive tone, 'John…I don't see…'

'It's a yes or no question!'

'No I didn't. I have never slept with anyone.'

'What? Are you for real?' John blurted out rudely before he could stop himself.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he picked up his fork and speared the mushrooms on his plate, his appetite seemingly unaffected by the discussion, 'Is this the part where you construct some sort of amusing insult about my lack of sexual experience?'

'Of course not,' the small man said automatically; squeezing their joined hands attempting to convey his love and support.

'Oh…well, that will be a first. Thank you' Sherlock replied, attempting to hide how relieved he was by this response, although he knew he shouldn't be surprised. John was the most compassionate of persons. Even though he ignored it, it still had hurt Sherlock when people casually sneered and sometimes laughed out loud that a thirty year old man hadn't found something more interesting to do with his cock besides aim it at the toilet. John's scorn or laughter would have eviscerated him.

It took a while, but after John had gotten over his initial astonishment at Sherlock's confession, he found his voice again, 'Blimey Sherlock, I thought Mycroft was taking the piss out of you.'

'He wasn't,' Sherlock growled, annoyed anew at his brother's mental machinations to control him, 'Why? For goodness sake, I am no blushing, trembling sixteen year old student! Surely my virginity isn't a problem for you?'

'Yes! I mean, no,' the other man spluttered, '...I don't know. Christ, if it hadn't come up in the conversation, were you going to tell me that you hadn't slept with anyone before?'

'Sorry, I don't see the relevance,' he remarked in confusion.'

John gawked at him in anguish, 'Don't you want to save your virginity for someone special? Someone you love? I think you should!'

It was Sherlock who now looked over with an entirely surprised expression on his face, 'Good Gad, man. You truly don't see yourself clearly at all.'


	5. Do you like what you see?

Chapter 5- Do you like what you see?

The moment John stepped out of the shower, he realized he had a slight problem.

'SHERLOCK!' he cried, 'come up here and lend me some of your clothes.'

'You don't have to shout,' his flatmate informed him, 'I am right out here in the bedroom. Do utilise my dressing gown behind the door.'

John looked and sure enough Sherlock's navy blue dressing gown was hanging there. He hesitated for a moment before his practical side took over. He hadn't bought a change of clothes with him and this was most likely the only thing that his friend had that was adjustable.

The doctor sighed deeply as he stepped out of the bathroom, which adjoined the luxurious suite that comprised one of Henry's guest rooms. Given the current circumstances, being naked underneath Sherlock's soft dressing gown was not helping him feel anymore in control of situation, but just then he caught sight of his friend, and he smiled to himself.

Most times Sherlock was all dark, mysterious and masterful as he strode around London in his high collar coat, arrogantly pushing his aristocratic nose in everyone's business and aggravating the bejeezus out of everyone in the process. But there were times like now, when his mate was slouched against a stack of pillows in his faded sweats, with an arm thrown causally under his head reading his Kindle, when he looked like the type of man to actually own a pair of ratty trainers, and would willingly jog two miles with him before heading to the nearest bakery to get a powdered sugar donut.

'Do you like what you see?' Sherlock asked in his quiet baritone voice, in a way that could only be described as a smug purr.

John rolled his eyes with a grin as he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, 'you know that I do, cheeky bastard.'

Sherlock looked up and gave him an exaggerated wink, causing John to snort with laughter. What the hell? Was Sherlock trying to flirt with him? He fell abruptly silent though when the detective held out his hand for him to take.

John stared at him. Sherlock stared right back.

'You won't like it if I have to come over there and get you,' Sherlock warned him in another baritone rumble that only served to raise all the hairs on the back of his arm.

'Oh really?' John remarked in amusement even as he tamped down on this fresh wave of arousal. If he hadn't been looking out for it, he might have missed Sherlock's nervous swallow.

 _Right._

 _A virgin._

 _How the hell does something like that happen? He's intelligent, passionate, funny and so gorgeous. He could pull anyone he wanted, male or female. Anyone!_

Sherlock's eyes narrowed dangerously at his flatmate's continued hesitance.

 _He's not as cool about all of this as he's pretending to be. I need to slow him down a bit._

'For God's sake John it's just me, not the bogeyman! Get over here!' Sherlock shouted right on cue, the way he normally did when he wasn't getting his way, 'Take deep breaths. It will help.'

'First off, Sherlock,' the doctor replied calmly, raising one finger to make his point, 'It's not a race, we can take our time and talk this through. We _need_ to take our time and talk this through...'

Sherlock groaned and dramatically squashed a pillow over his face, 'Urgh...Talking! Talking is BORING!'

'...and secondly,' John continued with practiced ease, 'I am not afraid of you or of us, I want you to get that idea out of your head. Anxious maybe to be testing the boundaries of my sexuality, but not afraid'

'Then what is it?' Sherlock ranted at him, flinging the pillow across the room, 'oh look, we're fighting again. Fan-frigging-tastic!'

The doctor shook his head at these antics as he went to collect the abused pillow, ' We are not fighting. Sherlock, there's a lot at stake at here, you must see that; our friendship, our professional relationship...our living arrangements. You know you can't afford the flat if I move out, right? Have you thought about all of that? Some caution would not be amiss.

He gently rested the pillow on the bed where the detective was lying spreadeagled, staring at the ceiling, and a long silence fell between them.

'Are you having second thoughts then?' Sherlock frowned.

John scrubbed his face with one hand, 'It's too late for second thoughts, I think. You were right, I can't keep going on like this. If you are still willing to explore a more intimate relationship, I will take it.'

Eventually Sherlock sat up and held out his hand again, this time with a more sober expression, 'I know there is a lot at stake, but we're not going to solve anything with you standing over there. Let's just share the bed, we don't have to do anything tonight if you don't want.'

Actually, he did want. He wanted bad. That's the reason he was in this situation after all.

 _Oh shut up hormones! Get a grip! We are not jumping our best friend._

With another deep breath, John crossed the space and took the offered hand. Sherlock was already on the right, so he took the left side of the bed. Quietly they arranged the pillows and blankets for sleeping.

'Wow! This mattress is amazing,' John breathed as he rolled on his back, luxuriating on the surface that was the perfect temperature and firmness.

'It's adjustable,' Sherlock revealed as he pointed the remote at him, 'I already set your side of the bed.'

'You did?!' John blurted out incredously, 'how did you know what...'

He broke off as Sherlock graced him with a look of supreme disbelief. After all these months, John supposed he should be over his friend extraordinary talent for observation.

'Do you need water?' Sherlock then asked with surprising gentleness, holding out a tumbler of the clear liquid.

His flatmate smiled, and took the proffered glass, setting it down on the night stand. He could get use to this special treatment! It was nice to be looked after for a change. Doctors needed love too, you know.

The detective turned to switch off his Kindle and the table lamp, 'You were quite a long time in the bathroom. You weren't masturbating, were you?'

 _Christ! Anyone would think that I was the virgin and not Sherlock._

'No I wasn't masturbating,' John replied in a strangled voice, marveling at how clincal the detective could sound talking about this. Was it some sort of coping mechanism or was this the way Sherlock felt about sex in general?

'But you were thinking about it?' he asked as he lay on his side, and tucked a hand under one angular cheek.

'Well…yes,' John admitted, turning his head to look into the pair of blue grey eyes that danced with the light from the fancy fireplace, 'Take the edge off, I suppose.'

The detective scowled fiercely.

'Didn't we talk about this? If you want to get off, you can ask me now,' Sherlock berated him sternly, 'we just have to find a moment for you to show me once how you like it done. Are you aroused now?'

'Do you masturbate?' John asked curiously, ignoring the provocative bit on the end in favour of interesting information.

'Yes.'

 _Holy cow!_

'Do you think about anyone while you're doing it?' the doctor blurted out, before he could realise what he was saying.

 _Why did I ask that? Shit! Do I really want to know this?_

Sherlock's forehead wrinkled in confusion, 'No one in particular. Why?'

Eager for more information about his secretive friend, John rolled on his side so that he was facing the man. 'So… why do you masturbate?'

 _Why can't I stop talking?!_

Fortunately Sherlock didn't seem to mind, and he shrugged his slim shoulders, 'I ...I dont do so often, usually though when I need a distraction and if I can get my mind to slow down enough, the release can be quite pleasant.'

John gave him a big stupid grin, relieved to hear that his friend enjoyed these things. Sometimes you had to wonder with all these rumours flying around, about Sherlock being asexual or frigid.

The doctor was so happy right now, he felt as though he was floating. This is what he wanted to hear. He was thrilled that there maybe some chance that Sherlock would enjoy being with him too. He knew he was frumpy and ordinary compared to his friend, but that would make no difference in the dark! He would just switch the lights off or something like that.

'Is there anything else on your mind tonight, John?' the other man asked with an indulgent smile, knowing full well the doctor wasn't usually this chatty at this hour of the night.

 _Only one of a thousand different things._

'Yes…' he agreed immediately, begging Sherlock with his eyes to continue his tolerant behaviour, 'just a few more questions.'

Sherlock sighed patiently, 'go ahead. Do you realise this is the longest conversation that we've had in a while, which hasn't erupted in shouting and cussing. It's quite good, isn't it?'

Immediately the doctor felt guilty. 'I am sorry I put you through all of that.'

The detective snorted loudly, before throwing a careless arm over his flat mate's hip as if they shared a bed everyday, 'As Lestrade has pointed out to me on many occasions, I am a lucky prick that you put up with me in the first place. John, I could see that you were suffering and if it was my secret to share, I would have asked someone for advice long ago. I am pleased that once again you favour me with your trust. Ask your questions.'


End file.
